Compliments to a Mind
by grab bag
Summary: Don Juan DeMarco. If we are to believe Don Juan's stories, he has this "mystical power" over every woman he comes across, but everyone must fail sometime. Surely there is one woman somewhere who was not a mindless slave to emotion and sweet-talk?


Something has been nagging me about this movie. We are told repeatedly that there were 1,500 women in the Sultan's harem, and if we are to believe Don Juan's story, he had a sexual relationship with every one of them. However, he told Dona Ana that he had relations with, exactly, 1,502, including her.

Wait a second. 1,500 _plus _Dona Julia _plus _the Sultana _plus _Dona Ana = 1,503.

He's missing one.

This is understandable, considering his mental condition, but I've been wondering- if we are to accept the story, then who is this one missing woman?

This is her story.

PS- i did get the official explanation for this contradiction...but i dont really care, haha. its still a good story.

Disclaimer: It's not mine. Don't sue. Plus I'm broke anyway.

* * *

Should I consider it an insult?

I've seen this man work through the girls of the harem for 2 years now. Age was no factor to him- he'd wooed girls as young as 14 and women as old as 42. Granted, all of them were beautiful of course; that was how they'd gotten here in the first place. So there was no reason to exclude a single one on basis of age or experience.

Except me.

And I can't decide whether to be insulted...or complimented.

I'm not a ravishing beauty; I know that much by now. Many girls of my village were more sought after by the young men than I was, were more delicately built or elegant of face, and yet I was selected for the harem. It wasn't because the Sultan has poor vision, either.

I was taken for my knowledge.

I had studied the Koran, as well as other religious scriptures- strange for a girl, I know. I had studied healing medicines, music and art, mathematics, science and astronomy. And stories- dozens of stories from foreign lands and distant regions. I believe this is what had actually drawn the Sultan's attention in the first place- a cultured young woman is always a spectacle. My late father had taught me all he knew from his travels, and the Sultan delighted in my story telling and fascinating conversation upon his arrival to our small town.

This was why he had me called to court. This was why I was now a member of the harem.

And this, I feel, is why I am now being ignored by this strange man.

I was 18 when he arrived, only one year older than he. The other women fell for him instantly. I could not see why they desired him. He was rough and uncultured, an ignorant foreigner with little knowledge to impart, so I dismissed his presence. I was never a flirt. I am an opportunist and self-proclaimed scholar first and foremost, and he held nothing of value for me when there were learned men of court to discuss more intellectual matters with. All he knew, it seemed, was that he liked women and was eager for as many as he could easily have.

Much like the Sultan, I now realize.

However, unlike the Sultan, he took no interest in my intellect.

That bothered me. Not much, but enough to cause me curiosity.

I don't find it particularly appealing that one man should be entitled to so much service and so many women when there are men who have no comforts at all, and that women may be stoned to death for impurity. I come from a small, poor town, you recall, and there the punishments for sin are most high indeed. This was much of the reason I left- I was given a way out and gladly took it, to live in a world where women may dishonor their husbands almost as much as the Sultan dishonors his four wives.

I always did commend the Sultana for her...hobbies.

In any case, this man's interest in the women of the harem seemed a bit presumptuous on his part. I have wondered what my reaction would be if he approached me in the same way he confronted the other women. Would he exercise his developing charms on me? Would I be such a fool as to fall for them?

The answer to both questions was no.

He spoke to me only once in the entire time he was there.

It was early one morning, when I had gone outside to observe the fading of evening stars in the sunrise. It was something of a game I played with myself- I liked to imagine how many other people were watching this same sunrise as I, how many had been up for hours slaving away, and how many would not rise until the golden orb hung high above our heads. I came up with some of my best stories this way.

That morning, this young man came outside onto the balcony which overlooks the garden, the same one I occupied. He was no doubt gloating over a number of drunken conquests from the evening before (one of which I had reason to suspect was my good friend Karina), and he had probably not even gone to sleep that night, fool that he was. Naturally observing the sunrise was the most he could think to do with his time.

After a few moments of silence, he murmured with that thick, strange accent, "The sunrise is beautiful, no?" When I did not answer, he added with what was intended to be a charming smile, "But you brightly outshine a thousand suns." He went on for some time like this, praising my beauty and comparing me to every celestial body he could think of (which was not many).

Was this his idea of jest? I am no beauty. Perhaps he had had more to drink than I had suspected, or was looking for one more encounter before meeting the Sultana that day. I said but one thing.

"Sir, I am not as easily ensnared as my sisters, and you would do well to let me be."

He seemed to shake his head in disbelief. He muttered something that may have been another compliment, and reached out to touch my sleeve, but I turned from him and went inside, for the sunrise was over. I had nothing more to say to him.

And he never said another word to me.

Perhaps he had never been rejected so calmly before, or perhaps he really was only interested in those beautiful women who were quickly wooed by a gentle word and a boyish grin. Heaven forbid he had to put in the effort to search for a woman first; he always struck me as the man who had many women but never really knew who they were. He would of course chase those few obstinate or reluctant vixens of the harem, but of course he always got them in the end. They were all slaves to emotion, and I had long departed from mine to seek other truths. I was more of a challenge to him than all 1,499 of the other women put together.

And I think he may have been frightened by that.

That his potent charm and devilish grin were not enough to win over a commoner with a brain. That there was one woman, somewhere, who did not consider him the greatest lover that had ever lived.

And he avoided me for the rest of his days there, never sought me out, struck the failure from his memory. I believe that he may have fooled himself into thinking that I had never existed. A plain looking girl with nothing to her name but her knowledge is no prize to any man unless she entertains him, as I entertain the Sultan with my stories and wit. And unless the stranger's avoidance of me is out of respect for my independence, then it surely is an insult to my person.

But to me, it is a personal compliment to my resilience.

I am the only woman who has ever denied Don Juan's charms, for they are hardly charms at all. It is easy to flatter a fool, but not so to win over the wise.

And after all- beauty may fade away, but brains enrich can enrich the lives of others for all your days.

And that's definitely a compliment.


End file.
